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GLORY to the FATHER and the Son, &c.

To

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10. God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, Three in One ;

Be honour, praise and glory given,

By all on earth, and all in heaven.

N

COMMON METRE.

OW let the Father and the Son,
And Spirit, be ador'd,

Where there are works to make him known,

Or faints to love the Lord.

G

SHORT METRE.

IVE to the Father praise,

Give glory to the Son;

And to the Spirit of his grace;
Be equal honour done.

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A SLIGHT

A SLIGHT

SPECIMEN

O F

MORAL SONGS,

Such as I wish fome happy and condescending genius would undertake for the use of children, and perform much better.

TH

HE fenfe and subjects might be borrowed plentifully from the Proverbs of Solomon, from all the common appearances of nature, from all the occurrences of civil life, both in city and country (which would also afford matter for other divine fongs). Here the language and measures should be eafy, and flowing with chearfulness, with or without the folemnities of religion, or the facred names of God and holy things; that children might find delight and profit together.

This would be one effectual way to deliver them 'from those idle, wanton, or profane fongs, which give fo early an ill taint to the fancy and memory; and become the feeds of future vices.

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"TIS

I. The SLUGGAR D.

IS the voice of the fluggard; I heard him complain,

"You have wak'd me too soon, I must flumber again."

As the door on its hinges, fo he on his bed,

Turns his fides and his shoulders and his heavy head.

"A little more fleep, and a little more flumber;" Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number;

And when he gets up, he fits folding his hands,
Or walks about fauntering, or trifling he ftands.

I pafs'd by his garden, and faw the wild brier,
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher;
The cloaths that hang on him are turning to rags:
And his money ftill waftes till he ftarves or he begs.

I made him a vifit, still hoping to find

He had took better care for improving his mind :
He told me his dreams, talk'd of eating and drinking;
But he scarce reads his bible and never loves thinking.

Said I then to my heart, "Here's a leffon for me:
That man's but a picture of what I might be :
But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,
Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.

II. IN NO.

II. INNOCENT PLAY.

ABROAD in the meadows to fee the young lambs.

Run fporting about by the fide of their dams,
With fleeces fo clean and fo white;

Or a neft of young doves in a large open cage,
When they play all in love, without anger or rage,
How much may we learn from the fight!

If we had been ducks, we might dabble in mud;
Or dogs, we might play till it ended in blood;
So foul and fo fierce are their natures:

But Thomas and William, and fuch pretty names,
Should be cleanly and harmless as doves, or as lambs,
Thofe lovely sweet innocent creatures.

Not a thing that we do, nor a word that we fay,
Should hinder another in jefting or play;

For he's ftill in earnest that's hurt:

How rude are the boys that throw pebbles and mire !
There's none but a madman will fling about fire,
And tell you,
" 'Tis all but in fport."

H

III. The ROSE.

OW fair is the rofe! what a beautiful flower!
The glory of April and May!

But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.

Yet

Yet the Rofe has one powerful virtue to boast,

Above all the flowers of the field:

When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are loft, Still how fweet a perfume it will yield!

So frail is the youth and the beauty of men, Though they bloom and look gay like the Rofe: But all our fond care to preserve them is vain; Time kills them as fast as he goes.

Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty,
Since both of them wither and fade:

But gain a good name by well-doing my duty;
This will fcent, like a Rofe, when I'm dead.

IV. The THIE F.

WHY fhould I deprive my neighbour

Of his goods against his will?

Hands were made for honeft labour,
Not to plunder or to steal.

'Tis a foolish felf-deceiving

By fuch tricks to hope for gain: All that's ever got by thieving

Turns to forrow, fhame, and pain.

Have not Eve and Adam taught us

Their fad profit to compute?

To what difinal state they brought us
When they ftole forbidden fruit?

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